JAMES R. FOURTNER

BRIEF BIO:

Jim Fourtner was born on December 6, 1924 in Grand Rond, Oregon. In June 1943 he was drafted, reporting to Ft. Lewis, Washington, for basic infantry training and to Jefferson Barracks, Missouri to train as an Army Engineer. In August of that year he switched to the Air Corps. He was sent to Amarillo, Texas, for flight training but, due to the large surplus of pilots in training at the time, he elected to go for flight engineer. He trained in gunnery at Kingman, Arizona and as a flight engineer at Boeing Field in Seattle. In June 1944 he was promoted to Corporal and was sent to Lincoln AFB, Nebraska, where he became part of B-17 crew FXAR-111. His major operations were in the European theater (ETO), where he flew 35 combat missions and was awarded five air medals. He was discharged on October 17, 1945, back at Ft. Lewis, Washington, with the rank of T/Sgt.

On June 22, 1973, in Vancouver, Washington, he married Carolee. They have four children, Linda, Karen, Ron and David.

HIS STORY:

I was born December 6 1924 in Grand Rond, Oregon. After leaving high school, I worked as a welder at Oregon Shipyards in Portland for about six months. Drafted in June 1943, I reported to Ft. Lewis, Washington, for my basic infantry training, then to Jefferson Barracks, Missouri, to train as an Army engineer. In August I volunteered for the Air Corps and made the switch shortly afterwards. I was sent to Amarillo Texas for pilot and officer training but part way through it was decided that there was a surplus so I, along with 90,000 others, was offered a choice of returning to the Army or going to air gunnery and flight engineer training. I decided to stay in the Air Corps and did my gunnery training at Kingman, Arizona, then went to Boeing Field, Seattle to qualify as a flight engineer. In June 1944 I was promoted to Corporal and went to Lincoln AFB, Nebraska, where I became part of crew FXAR-111.

On July 18 we transferred to Alexandria AFB, Louisiana, for crew and operational training. That training consisted of learning how to preflight a B-17, lots of navigation and gunnery exercises, formation flying and night navigational exercises. Most of the gunnery training was at low level against ground targets. It was hot and humid, leading to very bumpy rides. While taxiing it would often reach 125 degrees in the uninsulated fuselage, and we would be soaked with perspiration before takeoff.

One training flight almost ended in disaster when we hit prop wash at about 300 feet when coming in to land. We flipped on our side but the pilot got it upright just as one wheel hit the ground. We bounced several times before he got it straightened out staggered around the circuit again.

My duties as flight engineer included monitoring the engine and navigation instruments and maintaining a log on the engine functioning. In the combat zone, I would operate the twin 50 caliber guns in the upper turret. It was a very confined space so wearing a parachute was difficult. Normal practice was to have it stashed close at hand ready to be hooked onto the harness if need be. The same was true of the ball turret gunner. However, in combat, I once saw a B-17 take a hit which blew the upper turret clear out of the aircraft, and I watched the gunner fall clear without his 'chute. After that I decided to keep mine attached at all times. I left the 'chute pack on the floor but cut the bands which restrained the risers so that I could fasten them to my harness. Fully attached, all I had to do was grab the chute and go.

We completed our training on October 6, 1944, and were transferred back to Lincoln where we were assigned a new B-17G. At the end of the month, we flew it to Goose Bay, Labrador, with a couple of overnight stops en route. From there we flew to Rekjavik, Iceland, using dead reckoning navigation. We were advised not to rely on radio bearings from our Automatic Direction Finder (ADF) as U-boats were known to be transmitting false signals to lure aircraft off track. Many aircraft had already been lost through this ploy.

From Iceland, we flew to Caresaw in Wales where we handed over our B-17 and proceeded by rail and truck to Air Force Station 142 at Deopham Green, near Norwich in East Anglia. We were assigned to the 730th Bomb Squadron/ 452nd Bomb Group of the 3rd Bomb Division, 45th Combat Wing, 8th U.S. Army Air Force. On arrival, I was automatically promoted to Staff Sergeant, but before flying any missions, I was upped to Top Sergeant, the standard rank for a Flight Engineer on combat duty.

Typical of many USAAF bases in the U.K., most of the buildings were prefabricated and widely spread out. One large hangar was used for heavy maintenance, all other work was carried out in the open on the hard stands, in any kind of weather.

We lived in British-built Quonset huts made of rolled corrugated sheet steel on a concrete base. (Editor's. note: a number of these huts, as well as the main runway, still survive at the time of writing.) Twenty men (two crews) lived in each hut, which was heated by a small coke stove. In winter we often supplemented our meager fuel supply by raiding the nearby woods. From time to time we also supplemented our diet by shooting pheasants in the local landowner's woods and frying them over the stove. We reasoned that we had to do this because, contrary to many stories, the food in the mess hall was terrible.

Powdered eggs and potatoes were the mainstay. Eventually we got used to this fare because our mission flight rations consisted of nothing but hard candy. As a result we were terribly hungry when we returned to base. We couldn't eat anything else in the plane because calls of nature were impossible in the sub-zero temperatures at high altitude.

Living conditions were relatively primitive. We rarely had hot water for shaving, a real necessity when one had to wear a tightly fitting oxygen mask for many hours. Shower facilities were available but again rarely with hot water. Any time we got a short leave, we would head to the Red Cross-managed Mostyn Club, near the Marble Arch in London, where our first priority was to soak in a hot bath!

During a stay on April 19, 1945, we were blown out of our beds by a huge explosion. A V-2 rocket had landed just a quarter of a mile away, causing enormous damage. On many of our missions we encountered the vapor trails as these missiles were launched into the stratosphere, reaching about 25 miles altitude before descending on the London area with no warning. The V-1 robot bombs were a nuisance too. We often saw them passing over and, on one occasion, the motor on one of them quit right over the base. However, it exploded in a field about half a mile away.

Shortly after our arrival, we were greeted by name, rank and serial number and welcomed to the 452nd BG by Lord Hawhaw. He was a British traitor on a popular German radio station, which played all the latest pop music interspersed with propaganda. This was a regular occurrence for all arriving personnel.

Further proof of German capabilities was provided when two B-24s exploded during gear retraction after taking off from nearby Wyndenham. The rest of the Group were prevented from taking off and their mission was scrubbed. Investigators soon found that a German agent had bribed a U.S. serviceman to rig 5 pounds of dynamite in the wheel wells, which was triggered by landing gear retraction. The serviceman was quickly arrested, tried and executed but the agent was never caught.

Our initial baptism of fire, on November 21, 1944, was a seven hour 20 minute round trip to one of the most feared targets, Meresburg. The target was an oil refinery which we bombed by radar from 27,000 feet. The normal bomb load was twelve 500 pound bombs, some of which would be delayed action fused, or large M-17 incendiary canisters, which air burst when near the ground and spread several hundred smaller incendiary devices. One some trips, we would carry six 1,000 pound General Purpose (G.P.) bombs.

We had been issued a war-weary aircraft and had a hard time remaining in our slot. The pilots almost burned out the four new engines trying to stay in the protective envelope. Four days later we returned to Meresburg which, at the time, was 140 miles beyond our escorting fighter's range. The Luftwaffe again attacked the bomber stream but, on both occasions, our Group was not attacked. We did encounter very heavy flak from the approximately 1,000 anti aircraft guns sited in the area.

The missions came at a steady rate. On December 4 we flew our sixth mission, to Geissen near Frankfurt. On this trip, we suffered our first flak damage, as we made a 360 degree turn over the target. Fortunately no one was injured.

On December 18, during the mission to Mainz, our eighth, we were carrying 16 250 pound G.P. bombs plus a couple of M-17s. Unfortunately, five of the bombs failed to release. I had to get on the catwalk in the bomb bay and release them, using a screwdriver to trip the release mechanism. At the time, our aircraft was directly over the number 3 element lead ship of our lower squadron, so I spent a lot longer than I wanted exposed over the target until he moved clear and I could drop the reticent load.

Close formation flying was tricky even in calm weather but on our 9th trip, on December 30, en route to Kassel we entered a weather front with low visibility. I became speechless when I saw the wing tip of our wingman slide to within six feet of our fuselage behind our wing. Fortunately, the wingman was able to ease away from us again. Several times, on other missions in poor visibility, we avoided collisions with other aircraft only because the whole crew kept a constant lookout and yelled directions to the pilots, who responded quickly. Others were no so lucky. We witnessed two separate mid-air collisions, with disastrous results.

About this time the Luftwaffe adopted new fighter tactics. Previously it was usually single fighters that attacked individual bombers. On December 31 we had just turned off our bomb run over Hamburg, in heavy flak, when the firing ceased. We then sighted a "company front" formation of yellow-nosed Fw-190s, making a head on pass at the Group. They were stepped up in several lines abreast with all guns firing. They passed below us and hit the low squadron, the 728th B.S., and shot down five B-17s. The battle raged on for about 15 minutes. At the time, no escort fighters were in the area, they had gone to rescue another group in trouble. But the Group's gunners claimed eight Fw-190s shot down.

This mission was memorable for another reason. We were late launching due to a balky engine but finally got away and climbed rapidly to catch the 452nd and get into our proper slot. Unfortunately, it seemed like we had to overhaul the entire 8th Air Force to do this so we encountered a lot of prop wash. In a sharp bank to the left, we hit the turbulence from the air armada ahead of us and flipped inverted into a dive. It took both pilots, with their feet on the instrument panels, to recover control and get us upright again. We lost some 7,000 feet of altitude, over the North Sea. During the drop we got a bail-out call but nobody could obey. We were all pinned down by the G-forces. We were very lucky, several other aircraft were known to have broken up in the air after encountering such prop wash turbulence.

Coincidentally, after this mission both pilots were reassigned to other crews. Shortly thereafter other crew members began to be posted as well. Our bomb aimer became the navigator, replaced by another sergeant who was designated the "togglier". His task was merely salvo the bombs when the lead ship bombardier dropped a smoke bomb. This was to ensure that the formation all released at the same time to give a tight bomb pattern. His other job was to operate the chin turret guns. Later, when we were promoted to element lead, we would carry a qualified bombardier.

We took a lot of flak hits on the twelfth mission, an attack on Cologne on January 10 1945. Like many others, all our crew members had two flak vests. One was worn properly and the other was located strategically to protect our "manhood" from shrapnel coming up. On that mission our right wing man had his right wing shot off. He spun out of formation, and we didn't see any chutes. We dropped to just 4,000 feet on the way home because the weather was so bad. While we were airborne a snowstorm had dumped several inches of snow on the base. We cleverly tied a parachute to the tail wheel strut and ejected it through the rear entrance door as we touched down. It brought us to a rapid but safe landing on the slippery runway.

This was also the first time the pilots used the newly introduced Instrument Landing System (ILS) to get down through the clouds and snow. To add to the overall misery of that mission we failed to drop our bombs because we couldn't see the target, so we brought them home. On January 21 our target was a bridge over the Rhine at Ludwigshaven. The Group was supposed to fly with the 388th B.G. but in the poor visibility over France we lost contact. When we came out of the heavy clouds our pilot decided to join the high squadron of a group just ahead. Unfortunately, it turned out to be the 100th B.G., known as the "Bloody One Hundredth". It was so designated after an incident in which one of its aircraft in difficulties had lowered its landing gear to signify that it would surrender. However, as German fighters closed to escort it to an airfield, its gunners opened fire and shot several fighters down. Thereafter any aircraft of the 100th B.G. was a prime target for the Luftwaffe, and the Group suffered appalling losses.

We bombed with the 100th at 29,500 feet but immediately afterwards pulled into a rapid turning climb with the superchargers screaming to reach an altitude of 31,500 feet, amongst towering cumulonimbus clouds, to get away from them.

Part way through my tour, I was called to do a make-up flight with another crew, something nobody liked to do. The target was somewhere in the Ruhr Valley, which meant a maximum bomb and fuel load. During the take off roll, two exhaust manifolds blew, causing us to lose a lot of power. Too far down the runway to abort, we staggered into the air and struck a large oak tree. The pilot managed to keep us in the air and it took us almost an hour to climb to 1,000 feet. We had no choice but to abandon the mission and return to base. Some of our bombs were fitted with delayed action fuses so we were not allowed to bring them back. We salvoed them into the North Sea. As usual I didn't get a mission credit for this flight.

We didn't participate in the 452nd's 200th mission on February 10, 1945, or the ensuing celebrations, because all crews were on combat alert. However, our ground personnel had a great time. A number of "Piccadilly Commandos" as the streetwalkers were known, were invited to attend. It took the M.P.s some three weeks to get them all off the base!

Our first trip to Berlin, on February 3, was as part of the lead squadron of the 3rd Air Division. That day, the 8th and 9th Air Forces put some 2,000 bombers over Germany. We were airborne for nine hours and encountered heavy flak from 88 mm,105 mm and 135 mm artillery. We were lucky and received no damage but many others did, and 19 aircraft failed to return. We had fighter escort the whole way so we saw no fighter opposition.

On February 16, on our 20th mission, we attacked the famous Hamm marshaling yards. Once again, this time with another crew member, I was required to venture into the open bomb bay. One of the new RDX 500 pound bombs had hung up on the rear shackle. Its nose was in the slipstream, the safety wires had pulled out, and the arming propeller was spinning, leaving the bomb armed. It was in an outboard position and was difficult to pry loose. We had to reach across a gaping space to free it, a very nerve-wracking experience. All the while we were receiving moderate but accurate flak.

The next few missions were similar, mostly in clear air, resulting in heavy flak. We visited Frankfurt, Osnabruk, Nurenburg, Munich, Berlin, Leipzig and Ulm. Each mission averaged about nine hours. The longest, to Munich in southern Germany, was 10 hours 10 minutes. That was also the coldest trip we ever recorded, minus 85 degrees Fahrenheit. On all these missions, we had massive fighter coverage from P-51 groups.

The Nurenburg mission produced the worst flak we ever encountered. We had to take violent evasive action over the target to escape a battery of 88 mm guns which were tracking our element. This was unusual because we were normally required to hold a steady course from the Initial Point (IP) until bomb release.

All of our missions so far had been flown in what ever aircraft was available but just before the Leipzig raid we were at last issued a shiny new B-17G, serial number 44-6827, to call our own. Because it performed so well at altitude, we named it "High Blower".

We encountered our first German jet fighters on March 3, just after "bombs away" over Dedenhausen. Two Me 262s made a frontal attack on the low element of our squadron. One of their 30 mm shells sheared off our right wing tip. As the two hostiles broke away, two P-51s raced after them catching them in a turn. One was destroyed and the other dived for the deck with a P-51 in hot pursuit. It happened so fast that none of our gunners got off a single shot!

By then, we were considered a veteran crew, so it was not unusual for us to carry a "ground pounder" with us on some missions, just to give him the experience. They were usually assigned as an additional gunner in the waist positions.

Flak caught us again on the March 14 raid on a tank factory at Hanover, our 32nd mission. We got hit in the wing tip Tokyo tank and some fuel lines were severed. Fortunately, the tanks were almost empty. Quite a lot of shrapnel penetrated the fuselage too, but amazingly, none of our crew were hit.

After this mission, we took one of our regular seven day "flack" leaves, which we spent in London. Somehow, we never were able to go to one of the rest centers at one of England's stately homes or castles. We always ended up in London.

March 26 was our 34th outing. Our assistant crew chief came along as left waist gunner on another long flight, 10 hours 15 minutes, to Plauen near Leipzig. We dropped ten 500 pound bombs on a tank factory located in the city center and headed home to celebrate the end of our tour. Two weeks later, we went to Blackpool for processing and finally sailed from Southampton on May 3, 1945, aboard a U.S. Marine transport. Enroute we hit two tremendous storms and took 14 days to reach New York. After a few days of processing and being shunted around, we were given 30 days leave. I was then ordered to report to Chanute Field in Texas for B-29 training. It really ticked me off that we were being trained for further combat when there were thousands who had never been overseas. However, the two A-bombs quickly solved that beef. Part of my training, at Hobbs AFB in New Mexico, August through October, was again in B-17s.

I received an honorable discharge on October 17, 1945, at the Army Air Force Separation Base in Portland, Oregon. I was awarded five Air Medals and the usual campaign medals. "Hi Blower" survived the war and, with hundreds more, was put in storage at Kingman, Arizona. The accompanying photograph was taken in 1946 by William T. Larkins

I then entered the lumber industry, initially as manager of a plywood mill in Washington. I married Carolee in Vancouver, Washington, on June 22, 1973. We have four children, Linda, Karen, Ron and David. We moved to Roseburg in 1960 and I worked for several firms as a timber cruiser before retiring.

JERALD D. STRAUGHAN

BRIEF BIO:

Jerry Straughan was born in Nardin, Oklahoma, on July 31, 1922. When he had just turned 20 years old he enlisted in the Army Air Corps, at Fort Lewis, Washington. He was sent to the Air Base at Hobbs, New Mexico, where he went through several schools and qualified as an airborne radio operator and gunner. Because of a minor physical problem he was restricted from combat duty and so he spent most of his career there at Hobbs, in the Training Command. Near the end of the war he was assigned as tower chief at the Rome, New York Air Base. He was discharged on March 4, 1946, back where he started at Fort Lewis, Washington.

On April 13, 1943 Jerry married Betty, in Forest Grove, Oregon. Together they have a son Jerald M. and a daughter Julie Ann.

HIS STORY:

Today it is almost impossible to understand the commotion and consternation created by the bombing of Pearl Harbor. I think all U.S. citizens knew war was a possibility, especially on the West Coast, because the perceived enemy there, even before Pearl Harbor, was Japan. The Pannay incident alerted America to the growing threat. In 1935 a small U.S. river gunboat patrolling the Yellow River in China was sunk by Japanese aircraft. That was a wake-up-call. In a few months the incident was smoothed over but Americans remained suspicious of Japanese intentions in the Pacific.

"Mobilization" to inaugurate defense activities of all sorts assumed frantic proportions. Civilian defense organizations of various kinds were formed under the auspices of a county civilian defense chairman. Schools for civilians in first aid, evacuation, and bomb and incendiary fire-fighting were taught by the most knowledgeable of the local citizenry, those whose experience most closely resembled the need for knowledge in a particular defense. Schools were organized by local chiefs of each defense specialty at various locations in the state, so that all necessary special war contingency skills could be upgraded.
During the first few months after the Pearl Harbor attack most West Coast citizens really did not know what to expect. Invasion by a Japanese

Expeditionary force, bombers from carriers, attacks by Japanese submarines or other Japanese war ships, sabotage by Japanese in the U.S. and by ethnic Japanese-American citizens -- any or all of these were thought to be possibilities. Since the Oregon National Guard was mobilized for duty in the far away Southwest Pacific, a need for a military substitute was foreseen. A civilian National Guard was formed from county-wide ranks of younger farmers, businessmen and tradesmen. These men were uniformed with extra National Guard attire and were armed with hurriedly gathered World War I weaponry from armories and supply depots in various locations around the country.

Civilian police, Sheriff-deputized forces of some two hundred men were also formed in most of Oregon’s counties. Their duties were to assist law enforcement beyond that ordinarily provided by the County Sheriff’s paid personnel. Sheriff’s mounted horse posses were formed in all or most counties in the State, comprised mostly of older World War I veterans who also happened to have their own horses and hauling equipment.

Women formed auxiliaries for these organizations and volunteered for all kinds of perceived needs such as nurse’s assistants, first aid, hospital assistants and all manner of support organizations.

The changes during the first year, 1942, were colossal in the sense of mobilizing almost everyone into some type of war effort work. Portland shipyards went on twenty-four-hour work schedules and many local men and women moved out of town to work in jobs more directly related to the war effort.

In the midst of all this frenetic mobilization young men working and in colleges were aware that the newly-formed draft boards would be requiring all men over the age of twenty-one to register, with the sure understanding that registering was the first step in the process of "the draft", to supply men for the rapidly growing armed forces. By December 1942, Congress had lowered the draft age to eighteen. Men with families and men employed in vital industry, engaged in defense work, or having physical disabilities were the only ones not subject to the draft.

I was working in the shipyards and was planning to attend Pacific University, when my two buddies chose to enlist in the Navy. I chose to enlist in the Army Air Corps, rather than risk being drafted into the infantry. I was especially forewarned about infantry service by my father, a veteran infantryman of World War 1.

I enlisted in Portland in April 1942, just four months after Pearl Harbor. I reported to Fort Lewis in August, 1942. From there I was sent to basic training at a tent city, in Bakersfield, California. Such was the turmoil of this period that this training took only a few days. Thereafter I was sent to Hobbs, New Mexico -- population 4,000. Hobbs was a newly opened Air Corps B-17 training station, with a few barracks, a runway, and a cadre of officers and NCO’s to teach Air Corps basics.

Here all the new recruits were confined to base for six weeks, no passes to town, no furloughs. After only two weeks I was made a temporary sergeant, probably because some document that I had signed after enlistment revealed that I had volunteered for some ROTC training before entering the service. These new field promotions did not impress the old-time regular army NCO’S, who referred to us as "ninety day wonders." Worse yet, I was much younger than they.

When I enlisted, I was assigned as an armorer. There were no armorer operations at Hobbs so I requested that I be assigned as a mechanic. I was told that no more mechanics were needed at that time. My third choice was radio operator, because I had sometimes helped my cousin operate his "ham" radio and had used Morse code.

I was sent to Chicago to a temporary Morse code training school where we listened to code and Q signals seven days a week. Q signals were simple code letter combinations that have complex meanings or messages, allowing speedier transmission. Since I already knew Morse code, I returned to Hobbs after only five days.

My lifetime flying experience at this point consisted of a few hours in a Taylor "Cub" monoplane, flying over the green croplands of pre-war Willamette Valley, Oregon. At Hobbs, squadrons were formed, each with six or seven planes. These were called "flight line squadrons". I was assigned to the 957th squadron.

On April 13, 1943, during one of my short furloughs , Elizabeth and I were married, in Forest Grove, Oregon,. She followed me to Hobbs when I returned there.

I found that I loved to fly. I seized every available opportunity to take flights. I ended up with 800 hours of flight time. During high altitude flight I discovered that my nose would begin to bleed, plugging and restricting my oxygen mask equipment. This was reported to the command and my high altitude flights were restricted. As a result I was disqualified from overseas duty. However, paperwork takes time to work it’s way through the system so I was twice called up and "cleared the field" for shipment to the CBI theater in India. On the third call up my restriction to U.S. duty came through, and overseas duty was no longer an option.

As radio operator aboard the plane I had to call the tower to check that the radio was in working-order, and then to use it for inter-plane communication and to talk to the base. Another in-flight task was to pay out the ten pound weighted radio antenna from the plane’s radio shack to the correct length, up to 300 feet depending upon frequency adjustment.

My secondary duty was as gunner. For preliminary gunnery training we were given a case (not a box) of twelve gauge shotgun ammunition to shoot trap and skeet, that provided moving targets. We would shoot until our shoulders were so sore we had to stop. We could shoot as often and as much as our shoulders would allow. We were also given one and a half days of machine gun training and shooting on the firing range. This included instruction in assembly and trouble shooting of machine guns and tow target training at Harlington, Texas.

To remain on flying status, we were required to have twenty hours of flying time per month. These were accumulated on flights to give pilots training and practice in bombing runs, formation keeping, and navigation. We flew a lot of hours at night, to cities like Minneapolis, Kansas City, and Des Moines, which were considered to be friendly cities to servicemen. Minneapolis was considered to be the best liberty town while San Antonio was thought to be unfriendly. Training crews of pilots and flight engineers were usually aboard, testing the capabilities of our pilots, flight engineers and radio operators.

Sometimes flying, even in practice, was hazardous and frightening. We flew in formation in several hail storms with very little visibility. Kansas City is famous for noisy spring and summer lightening storms that drown out the engine noise. Generally, I did not know who would be the pilot of the B-17 that I was to board for a practice flight. On several occasions, the pilot was Captain James "Jimmy" Stewart.

In July 1945, 1 was taken off flying status and transferred first to Sheppard Field, Texas, then to Langley Field, Virginia, for training as a control tower operator. After completing that training, I was assigned to the Air Base at Rome, New York. Since Betty and our son had remained at Hobbs, we now made plans for them to join me at Rome. She packed a very small number of belongings and our one-year-old boy into our five year old blue Chevy convertible and began the twenty five hundred mile drive across the United States.

Before departing Betty had had limited driving experience -- she had to learn along the way. Worse yet, the top speed allowed during the war years was thirty-five miles per hour, due to a national emergency law enacted to conserve gasoline. It took her seven long days to reach Rome, changing diapers at wide places along the highways. She ate at little restaurants or packed lunches with food purchased at grocery stores along the route.

Money, of course, was short since I no longer received flight pay. My pay as Sergeant and Betty’s allotment of $52 a month combined to about $110 a month. Because Rome was a big air base, housing was expensive and in short supply. We lived in a motel cabin with the elaborate cooking facilities of a two burner kerosene stove.

During my time at Rome my job as tower chief allowed me to set my own shift. I could put others in charge so I could take a short nap. Soon after arriving I got an outside job, at a commercial nursery that raised tomato plants and roses. That was my day job. From midnight until eight in the morning I was at the tower. From nine in the morning until six in the evening I was at the nursery. After six I went home to the motel for dinner and about a five-hour nap, until I had to leave to be at the tower at midnight. Even with all that, money was still tight. The nursery owner knew how we were scrimping by. At Christmas he brought us a big basket of food and toys for our son. That gift was one of the best of our lives, and we became very fond of my employer.

In the winter of 1945 - 46 the war was over. Rome was the port of entry for planes coming home from Europe. They refueled and were off again for air bases around the country. While there I accumulated enough points for discharge. I was given the option to be discharged at Fort Lewis, Washington, with travel money to get there.

In February 1946 (my son was two), we started traveling west in our 1940 Chevy. In Sioux City, Iowa, a Shell Oil truck struck our car. Our little son was in a bassinet in the back seat but he was not injured. The driver was aghast at what he had done to our car. The estimate to straighten the fender was $86. He covered that plus an extra $20, and helped us straighten the fender enough to drive.

So now we had $106 extra dollars. By sleeping in the car in Pocotello, Idaho, we managed to arrive at my parents’ house in Hillsboro with $30 left in our pockets. Betty and our son stayed in Hillsboro while I went on to Fort Lewis for discharge, on March 4, 1946. Off came the uniform with the famous "ruptured duck," the honorable discharge gold eagle insignia of the discharged veterans of World War II.

WILLIAM F. YOUNG

BRIEF BIO:

Bill Young was born on July 25, 1923 in Dierks, AR,. When he was still just 18 years old, on June 27, 1942, he enlisted in the Army Air Corps, at Fort Lewis, WA. He took Basic Training at St. Louis, MO; Advanced at Las Vegas, NV; and additional training at several US bases, over a one-year period. He then flew 19 combat missions in the European theater as armorer and waist gunner in a B-17. He was shot down on his nineteenth mission, and spent 19 months as a POW.

Bill was awarded three Air Medals and a Purple Heart and was discharged on September 6, 1945 at Santa Ana, CA.

He was married in Reno, NV, and he and his wife Leora have two children, Michael and Susan. Bill Young died in his sleep July 21, 2001

HIS STORY:

MARCH TO ETERNITY

This is a record of the forced march I made near the end of World War II. I am using notes from the fly leaf of my New Testament Bible that I kept and carried with me on the march. Notes are mostly of the mileage we walked and the places we passed through. Also I am using memory refresher excerpts taken from the Journal of a Mr. Joel Alford who was on the march with me. I have to have help to be able to reach back fifty years, I am sure I cannot remember every thing that happened.

FORWARD

Fifty years ago, October 10, 1943, flying with the 100th Bomb Group, 418th Squadron, I was on my 19th bombing mission, to the city of Munster, Germany. We had departed from our base near Diss, Norfolk, England. Near the target our B-17 bomber was struck by several burst of anti-aircraft fire and knocked out of formation. We were then jumped by German Me-109s and FW-190s, and were forced into the ground near the German-Holland border. Captured by German Forces, we were then taken to a POW camp, Stalag 17-B, where we remained until April 7,1945.

At the time I was flying we were supposed to finish twenty-five missions and then be returned to the USA. This log is about the end of my 19th mission some 19 months later.

THE MARCH

Saturday April 7,1945: We were told that we would be leaving this camp, Stalag 17-B, the next day. The Russians were advancing up the Danube River, thirty miles away. I do not think the Germans wanted us to fall into Russian hands. I know the Germans didn't want to be captured by the Russians.

We were told to take only what we could carry, as we would be walking. At the time I had about 130 packs of cigarettes that I had accumulated by trading and gambling. They were worth $30-$40 a pack on the black market, if you could bribe a guard to sell them for you.

I packed what little food I had, one blanket, three pair of socks and all the smokes I could carry. They were to be used for trading on the march. The rest of them I gave to the other Krieges (POWs).

Sunday April 8: We left camp about 8:15 AM, about 4,000 airmen strong. We were broken into groups of about 500 with 39 guards per group, Army, Luftwaffe, storm troopers and Volkstrum. The civilians, in this part of Austria, were friendly. We walked approximately 40 kilometers and passed through five small towns. We were still in fair shape, although we got no food at all from Jerry today.

April 9 - 7:00 A.M: It was cold and damp last night and I didn't get much sleep. We left at 9:00 AM and walked about 17 km. We would stop for a 10 minute break every hour. The weather was still good. We still got no food from the Germans. We were living on what little food we brought with us. We were still in mountains and it was hard walking.

April 10: Today we stopped over 24 hours for a badly needed rest. At 10:00 AM Jerry finally came through with some chow, in the form of boiled barley, which tasted delicious, probably because we were so hungry. He also gave us one loaf of black bread to be divided between 18 men. We got a chance to wash and shave today in a mountain stream. Cold but refreshing. The weather has been fair so far but I dread the rain that is sure to come.

April 11: I slept well last night and felt better for the rest. This morning we had Jerry beans (similar to dried limas) for breakfast. Then we walked nine kilometers to a small town, where we had hot soup, through the kindness of Jerry. Again one loaf of bread to eighteen men -- very generous of the Krauts. My feet are sore and blistered. All told we walked twenty kilometers today. The civilians are treating us better than expected.

April 12: I slept in a barn last night. I was so tired that even the cow dung and smell did not bother me. We marched all day in a cold downpour of rain. I was wet and cold through and through, with no chance to dry out. We walked 23 kilometers today.

Before we left camp I gave a Russian POW two packs of cigarettes for a straight razor. It had ivory handle and hammered gold inlay in the blade. A beautiful work of art. I had hoped to bring it to my Father, as he used a straight razor. Well today I was so tired and weak from walking and lack of food that I threw away everything that was not essential to my survival. I ripped my one blanket in half and threw away half of it, along with the razor and other things out of my pockets. I was sorry to lose it. (I think we will be walking until the end of the war.)

April 13: There was some delay in getting started today. My clothes were still wet and it continued to rain. I had four biscuits today, there was nothing else to eat. We heard from Jerry that President Roosevelt died. Another punch in the belly. We walked 21 km today.

April 14: In another barn. Weather is clearing but it rained last night. We got a 24 hr. rest. Did we ever need it. We got no food from Jerry today and there was no GI chow left. God am I hungry! Jerry killed a cow late today. Guards (39) got half, GIs (500) got the other half. Very generous of them.

April 15: We came down out of the mountains today and the walking was much easier. We are now headed west. We reached the Danube River and passed through a fairly large town. The civilians were not friendly at all but there was no violence. Lots of name calling, such as "Luff gangsters", "Air bandits", "Baby killers", etc. We logged 23 Kilometers today.

April 16: Jerry gave us a hot meal(soup) and a bag of dog biscuits. We are still in a valley and followed the Danube River quite a ways. Tonight we are supposed to stop 13 kilometers outside of Linz. These towns have had the hell bombed out of them. Anti-Semitic feelings running high in the civilians. The treatment we get from them is unbelievable, they throw rocks and garbage and spit at us. Some of the guys are really scared, including me. The weather is now hot and roads are dusty. We walked 23 kilometers today.

April 17: We are staying in a town for a 24-hr lay over and rest. So far there have been six (6) air raids. How can you rest with all that going on? Nine men to a loaf of bread and that's all. We ran out of GI chow three or four days ago. All we have is what Jerry gives us, which is almost nonexistent. How can we live, let alone march on these rations? Maybe tomorrow will be better.

April l8: Last night the air raids started at 5:00 PM and ended at 3:00 AM this morning. We walked through Linz during an air raid. People not at all friendly. Water is no problem in the mountains but down here it is hard to come by. You get it where you can, road way ditches, cow tracks, etc. We crossed the Danube River during an air raid. Boy, are the Germans catching it around here. The British raid at night and the Americans in daytime. None of us have been hurt so far, that I know of. We marched 31 kilometers today. We got no food at all today, we need it badly.

April 19: We received a small amount of soup and one loaf of bread for eight men. We walked 17 km and stopped, to allow the Protecting Powers (Geneva Convention People) to check on our condition. What a joke! So this time Jerry makes it five men to a loaf of bread and seven and a half men to one can of meat, plus a few potatoes. Jerry is a very nice man when Geneva people around. He promised a hot meal tonight --guess what, the damn stove broke down for no apparent reason. Red Cross man promised us parcels in a few days. I am almost ready to drop from hunger and exhaustion. How much further do we have to walk?

April 20: We are still going west. We marched from 7:00 AM to 4:30 PM in the hot sun. We traveled 21 km. It was very hard marching, we are so weak from hunger. Some of the civilians around here would like to trade (for cigarettes) but Jerry watches them too closely. One cigarette is worth eighty marks, one loaf of bread = ten cigarettes. The people seem more friendly here. We pass shrines every day and, strange as it seems, with bombs knocking every thing down, I have yet to see one of these shrines that had been hit. Food for today was one cup of Jerry coffee.

April 21: We are staying here for a 24 hour rest. We sure need it. Two Red Cross parcels came today for five men. They came in GI trucks, driven by Swiss people. Last night Jerry gave us some warm soup and turnips, very little though. Men are stealing from farms, from Jerry and from each other. Hunger takes all your self respect away and reduces you to the state of an animal. I can truthfully say that I never stole from a fellow Kregie. The ones that were caught doing it suffered an awful fate from the other prisoners. I can't take much more of this--

April 22: Off at 7:00 AM in rain, sleet and snow. We walked over 20 km. today. We stopped near a large plowed field for a nature call. We were told to go out into the field so the guards could watch us. Always searching for food, we dug into the plowed rows to see what was planted. The farmer had just planted his potato crop. With 500 "Moons" all digging up potato seed it must have been a sight to behold. I often wondered what the poor farmer must have thought when his potatoes failed to come up.

For food today we got the Red Cross parcels and thin soup . We did have our seed potatoes so we ate better today than anytime since we left Stalag-17B. I am wet and frozen through. Oh yes, we did get one loaf of bread for five men. Jerry told us we should reach our new camp in three days. Sure do hope so.

April 23: Off at 7:00 AM, we marched 26 km today, in the rain most of the way. Rumor has it that we will lay over 24 hours, march 16 km and lay over another 24 hours. Sure hope so. I am so tired and my feet bother me a lot. A lot of our boys are starting to drop out. I do not know what happens to them and I for one don't want to drop and find out. Guesstimate: we have walked 250+ km up to today. This is our sixteenth day on the road.

April 24: Today we will lay over and rest. It's cold and damp. I am too tired to do much of anything. Last night we got uncooked barley, horse meat, potatoes and one loaf of bread to 12 men. I understand now that we will not reach our new camp soon, as per rumor. Oh well

April 25: On this day, Wednesday, we reached out new "camp", after walking twenty-five km southwest of Braunau, Austria. Truly unbelievable, there is nothing here, no shelter, no hospital for the sick and hurt and no water within about a half-kilometer -- just forest. We arrived at 3:00 PM. Jerry gave us one loaf to seven men. There is a field kitchen but it is not set up yet. We got busy digging slit trenches to be used as latrines. We used pine boughs to build a lean-to type shelter. There are roughly, give or take a couple hundred, 4,000 American air personnel who arrived here. We walked 18 days and covered 276 kilometers, according to my guess. Not bad for a bunch of "fly boys".

April 26: The American Red Cross arrived last night with 3200 parcels. They were given out today, three to four men. The parcels were real good, lots of sweets, cake and biscuits plus bulk food to be cooked. We haven't eaten like this since we were taken POW Also Jerry gave us our first food in days -- barley (very little) soup (water) and one loaf of bread to 18 men. Tonight we get sugar (spoonful), coffee (1 cup) and three potatoes per man.

It was damn cold sleeping last night. Nice weather today so we will try to build a better shelter out of these pine boughs. It sure is hard to build anything when you only have a pocket knife for a tools. We worked all day. I am tired but it sure feels good to be off the road and know the Red Cross is feeding us. Bless the Red Cross. The Krauts would have starved us to death long ago had it not been for them.

We all have the feeling that the war is about over. I don't think we will be moved from this place. We Americans are getting organized on a Military basis for the first time since I have been a prisoner of war. I have seen men at their worst. I am sorry to say that I was among them at times. Self survival runs deep in humans. I will always be amazed at the punishment that the human body can take and still survive. This is the first time in a long time that I feel like bathing, shaving and cleaning up.

April 27: Things are looking better. More Red Cross parcels came today, I don't know how many yet. I have lost over 50 pounds (guess) since being shot down. But if the food keeps coming I will gain it back soon. Getting water here is a real problem. We have to get it from the Inns River, about a half-kilometer away. We have to scramble down a sheer twenty-five foot drop to get to it. No bread from Jerry today but we did get some raw barley and a little butter. We are almost free now, Jerry doesn't bother us much any more. American forces must be getting closer. I sure hope so.

April 28: Rain-rain. I am soaked to the skin. Our pine needle shelter is not very water proof. But we are eating better now than I have for the last nineteen months.

April 29: Rain and more rain. I can't sleep at night. I just stand by the fire and try to dry out. What I wouldn't give for a GI Pup tent. Hard to keep rain soaked wood burning.

April 30: What a life. It started to rain 8:00 PM the 27th and rained continually until 4:00 AM the 29th. With blanket and clothing soaking wet you don't dare lay down on the ground and try to sleep as resistance is lower while asleep. And in my condition, its real low. The weather is still cold and damp and threatening to rain. Stand by the smoking fire and hope you don't catch a bad cold, this near the end of my misery. American troops have to be very very close by. We hope so. We found a new place to get water, a 100 ft. drop to a natural spring.

We were told today that we really walked 330 kilometers. Some walk for the U.S. Army Air Corps. Today we got a quarter of an American Red Cross parcel and quarter of a French one. Jerry gave us nothing but a little raw barley and a few potatoes. Munich was bombed out yesterday so we are cut off from the Swiss and Red Cross parcels. Oh well

May 1: We are on a plateau several hundred feet above the surrounding country side, and we can see several miles down the valley to the west of us. We can see tanks moving but can't tell if they are American or German. Heard a rumor that American Forces have taken Brauna. It rained again last night, we are all wet and cold. Jerry gave us a loaf of bread and a little raw barley for twenty men. I don't think I will ever be warm again.

May 2: Last night was miserable, so wet and cold. It rained and snowed.

American Troops are here They arrived about 5:00 PM They are with Patton's Third Army, Thirteenth Armored. The German guards, what's left of them, have surrendered.

WE ARE FREEEEE!

We had a roll call (American) to read us the Articles of War.

Now it seems that this mission I started Oct 10,1943 will finally end on May 2, 1945. Well not exactly, I never did make it back to England, where it started. But who cares, we are going home. This war is over for me.

When we leave here we go to Camp Lucky Strike then sail for home. I flew over here but I'm going home on a boat.

FOOT NOTES

This is the story of my march to Eternity. It is the best that I can remember and piece together after all these years. There are some things that were not written down at the time of the march, for obvious reasons. Had Jerry caught us with the following accounts we would have been shot. Now I can record them, from memory.

At one rest stop, about the 16th day out, some of us sat down and leaned back against a barn which had large cracks between the boards. Always searching for food we looked into the barn. Inside human bodies were piled one on top another. Needless to say, it did not take us long to move away from there.

About the 17th or 18th day we met approximately 300 prisoners (Jews I think they were) marching East. Some of them wore civilian clothes and some had on white stripped prison garb. They were being herded quite rapidly by the Gestapo guards. This was the dirtiest, beaten and starved mass of human souls I had ever seen. This was my first encounter of the Nazi treatment of the Jewish race. These people were so starved, they were just skin and bone. Some of then would grab a wad of clay, roll grass in it and then eat it just to put something in their stomachs. They were dropping like flies. When they fell the German guards would bayonet or club them in the head with their rifle butts. The Gestapo guards would not even waste one single cartridge to put the poor souls out of their misery. The road ditches were littered for miles with their bodies.

Also, shortly after this we passed by a concentration camp. As we drew abreast of it we saw a German wearing a gas mask and leading a horse hitched to a hay wagon. The wagon was filled with human bodies, which were nothing but skin and bone. These scenes will stay etched into my memory for the rest of my life. It's things like this when you drop all pretense of being human and revert to the state of an animal. Man's inhumanity to man.

THE HOME FRONT

RUTH BATES

On the morning of July 24, 1945 as I waited for my husband Ralph Bates, who was returning from overseas, I heard the familiar sound of a WWII bomber. But it was flying dangerously low! I rushed to the window just in time to see it crash into the top of the Empire State Building. I was certain that my husband, who was to hitch a ride to New York City that day, was on that plane. How ironic it would have been if from the same Taft Hotel, where we had honeymooned three years before, I would see him in a terrible crash!

Ralph and I were dating in the months that preceded the 1941 Japanese raid on Pearl Harbor, urgently seeking moments together, knowing the time was short. We were married the following March in a Baptist church in Binghamton, NY. We didn't talk much about our coming separation, as I remember, for we were both on cloud nine. But I knew in my heart that he would soon be leaving me alone to go to war for his country.

I don't have to go into the pain and apprehension that followed his enlistment into the United States Air Corps and the very sad goodbyes on that day when he left for Atlantic City for his basic training. I have always been very much in love with my husband, and to be left standing, at the edge of the railroad tracks watching the train pull away, taking my love away from me, was devastating to say the least. Words don't begin to tell the suffering and pain that was with me day and night after he left.

Our little house we had bought and lived in for only 11 months had to be put up for rent, our furniture stored, and I had to get a hold on my life again in some way. We had both worked for IBM in Endicott, NY. Wives were not allowed to work there if their husbands were employees, so I had quit when we married. However, because he was no longer an employee, I went back, working nights as a key punch operator ... nights because they were the hardest for me to handle at that time.

My mother and father stood by me through all this bad time, in fact I had moved back to their home after Ralph left. IBM was a wonderful company to work for, and they continued a caring attitude towards their servicemen. They gave Ralph a $49 check every month during his entire service in the Army Air Corps during the war.

I decided that I wanted to follow Ralph, no matter the hardships, so after just a few months I quit my job. I had to sell our car to have money to live on as I traveled and rented places to live. Nevertheless, that $49 came in mighty handy -- quite a bit of money back in the 1940s.

After basic training in Atlantic City, Ralph was moved to Arkansas where he received pilot training at three small bases. In Helena, I rented a room with kitchen privileges with another cadet wife. We didn't see much of our husbands there, only a couple of weekends a month, but we talked on the telephone and we knew they were nearby. The USO's were so helpful to us in placing us in good homes and then we had a place to go when the men were on leave. There were dances and refreshments, always something going on.

At his next base in Walnut Ridge, the officials of the base let us rent rooms in a barracks right on the base and we could see our husbands every night in the day room and go to the theater, eat at the PX or just walk around. The cadets were flying heavier aircraft here and we wives could listen in on short-wave to our men taking off and landing their planes. The morale at that base was better than any. We would sit in the PX eating hamburgers and listening to The Mills Brothers singing about a "paper doll" on the nickelodeon. I remember one sad duty when one of the cadets was killed when his plane crashed. His wife was living there with us and we all felt the sorrow and uncertainty of flying ... it could happen to any of our men.

The third base was near Stuttgart where the hotel let us have rooms by the month. It was at that time that I learned to knit and made myself a sweater. However, we could only see our husbands on weekends. Cadet wives there helped each other pass the anxious and lonely hours. Some of the wives had hot plates in their rooms and would cook up a batch of chili and share it. I remember the bus service to and from the bases was very good, so if we didn't have a car, as was the case before graduation, we were always able to get around.

By the time graduation came we were all good friends and were all elated to see our husbands become 2nd Lieutenants ... OFFICERS!!! We were officer's wives! It was such a thrill to pin on my husband's wings.

Then came the moves again from one base to another as these men got their crews, found out what kind of a plane they would fly. Ralph was selected to be an aircraft commander of a B-17 bomber and I was so proud. Mostly we rented small apartments but it was wonderful for us not to have to kiss our husbands good night and see them leave us; at least we had them with us all the time they weren't flying. There was one base near Columbus, Ohio, where we wives had kitchens in our motel rooms ... that was a plus.

There was lots of camaraderie as we were all sharing in the same wartime nerves, uncertainties, loneliness, and discomforts of crowded busses, trains and waiting in long lines to travel. I remember one time when I traveled to Atlantic City when I had to stand up for over two hours on a bus. I also had to sit on my luggage when there were no seats available on the trains ... they were all so crowded! Later I found that one could ask a porter for a daytime seat in the Pullman section, but only after I had endured the discomfort of the crowded coaches for months.

It was a happy day after we came home on leave after graduation when we went to buy a car, a 1939 Buick coupe. Later, at a B-17 training base in Iowa, we traded our conservative gray Buick for a yellow Buick convertible. You do crazy things like that when you are young and life is uncertain.

One Saturday evening when Ralph came home late from a day of flying, he came in the door white as a sheet. It seems that two of the B-17s had crashed together right in front of the plane he was flying. He saw pieces of planes falling all around him. A difficult time to lose two crews in training, who never would get to fly in the actual war yet gave their lives for their country in another way. One of the airmen killed was due to be married that same afternoon!

The dreaded day of Ralph's departure for his flight overseas to the war zone loomed before us at all times, and we felt every moment together become more and more precious. I remember my last night with him was in Lincoln, Nebraska, where he was to take off to his overseas assignment. His bombardier's wife was also in Lincoln at that time and after the good byes were said we traveled home together. Those were again very sad days of parting.

And this time it was really dangerous, for he would be flying missions over enemy territory. We wrote many, many letters and it was gratifying to hear that the morale was good there in his home base in Italy. Sometimes I would get letters stained with butter or grease. He cooked grilled cheese sandwiches over the heater in his tent and some of the food would naturally get on the paper on which he was writing. They named his plane "Miss Prissy".

In the meantime, I was back at home with my mother and father. They were so understanding and so good to me. I kept busy practicing with a girls trio from our church and singing in the local churches in the area. Because gas was rationed we couldn't go too far away. But now and then the gas station owners wouldn't ask for our ration stamps because they had a surplus.

Then the days went by without a letter... I couldn't help but wonder what was happening out there in Italy. Sometimes the mail would come in bunches but now nearly a month had gone by with no mail. Then I finally got a letter telling me that Ralph's plane had been shot down and he was somewhere in Russia with four other crew members. I was blessed not to hear the knock on the door and receive the missing in action telegram that was about to be sent. Ralph was able to get word back to his base in Italy that he and his officers and engineer were safe.

He later found out that his gunners and radio man had been taken prisoners but that all were alive, though some were seriously injured. After a crash landing in Poland (before being flown into Russia) he crawled back into his B-17 and saw traces of blood on the radioman's seat and bullet holes through the back of the seat. Those men who parachuted at the time Miss Prissy was hit never knew that the other five made it back alive. They just took it for granted that the burning, spiraling B-17 they had left must have blown up.

That last mission Miss Prissy flew proved to be the second worse mission of the 493rd bomb group. There were a great many planes shot down that day, along with Ralph's. After a month in Russia, the officials finally allowed the crew to return to their base in Italy.

A few days after arriving there, in May, the war in Europe was over. Ralph flew a B-l7 full of men back to the states, landing at Westover Field in Massachusetts. I anxiously waited to meet him at the Taft Hotel in New York. It was a pretty exciting time for both of us that morning while I was waiting for him to come to my room.

I was used to identifying planes that flew around the US air bases where I followed Ralph, so when I heard a plane flying low overhead I immediately recognized it as a B-25. I rushed over to the window that overlooked the Empire State Building, just as the plane crashed into the top of the building! I was worried that Ralph might have hitched a ride on that plane and was so thankful when a knock came on the door and it was my dear one, back from the war and looking so good to me. The Colonel, who had visited his mother in Maine, was lost in the fog as he was trying to find the Newark airport in his aircraft. It was he who died that morning, against the skyscraper. Ralph came into New York on a train.

As I look back on those war years, I realize the people of our United States were far more patriotic than now. Rarely do we see flags flying from porches, not even on the 4th of July. There are lots of odds and ends of flags waving but not "Old Glory" What has happened to our country? Will it take another World war, even more devastating, to bring us back to sanity?

BETTY POTTER

In 1942 I lived in San Antonio, Texas where I worked at Kelly Army Air Force Base (AAFB). I met Chuck during this time and dated some three months before he left for flying school. In March of 1943 he flew from Marfa, Texas to San Antonio, solo, and we were able to see each other again. He gave me his wings and we considered ourselves engaged.

Chuck was transferred to Hobbs, New Mexico where he was going to B-17 Transition School. We were married on July 18, 1943 at the Base Chapel. We had a small reception at the Officer's Club and spent the afternoon together before he had to leave to fly cross-country. Due to bad weather he was gone for three days. That was just the beginning and a sample of the kind of life that lay ahead of us.

As I remember, Hobbs, New Mexico, was a small town with one main street. We lived in a hotel with other military couples. We had to eat all of our meals out. When the men were gone we spent a great deal of our time going to movies or visiting each other. I made several good friends there and continued to keep in touch even after the war.

The B-17 Transition School ended after about three months. Chuck soon received orders to Nellis AAFB, Las Vegas, NV, where he would fly gunner's to help them become combat ready. The Gunnery Base was called Indian Wells. It was about 50 miles from Las Vegas and in a very remote part of the desert.

We spent six months in Las Vegas and lived at the El Rancho Vegas Hotel. The Hotel has since been torn down and no longer exists. We had a small cottage by the swimming pool. We saw many celebrities while there and they seem to enjoy chatting with us and always made us feel special. The City Bus Service did not charge the Military Men to ride the bus, nor did the Movie Theaters charge for attending the movies. We saw many celebrities while we were there and , as a whole, we were treated royally by the good citizens of Las Vegas . Chuck had to commute 30 miles to Indian Wells, where they had a gunnery range and could fly simulated combat flights

I guess the good times had to end sometime as with a War on Chuck soon received orders to report to Pyote, Texas. He and his crew would train for combat for the next three months. We bought our first car, a 1941 Ford, and drove there. Pyote was right in the middle of the desert. The Base was called Rattlesnake AAFB. Monahans, a town of medium size, was located about twenty miles from Pyote. We chose to live near the Base and found a small motel near the end of the runway. There were seven cabins with a small kitchenette, all occupied by pilots and their wives. We made several friends there and continued to keep in touch over the years. I'll always remember a young couple that lived next door to us -- he was not as lucky as Chuck. He was shot down over Germany later that year.

The training soon ended and a graduation ceremony was scheduled on the runway. I can still remember the B-17's lined up on the runway and the men standing at attention awaiting their orders to leave. The wives and families were there to say their goodbye's. I ran into an old friend from my high school days who was the navigator on one of my girl friend's husband's crew. He was later shot down over Germany and did not come home.

I was expecting our first child and it was decided that I should spend the time that Chuck was gone with his family, who lived on a farm in Ohio. Our son Charles (Dick) was born the day and the time that Chuck was flying over the Canadian Border on his way to Europe. He did not hear of his son's birth until six weeks later. I spent my time taking care of our son and writing daily letters to Chuck and some of the crew members.

After about five months of receiving daily letters from Chuck they suddenly stopped. A letter that I had sent to his bombardier was returned to me marked "Missing in Action". I thought, of course, that that would include Chuck, but I had not been notified by the War Department. Each day when the Mailman came he would sadly say, "No letter today". Finally after about six weeks I saw the Mailman about a quarter a mile down the road waving his arm wildly holding a letter for me. How wonderful to finally know that Chuck was okay. Chuck's bombardier had gone with another crew on a mission and they were shot down. He later became a Prisoner of War and returned home safely.

Chuck had written to me that he had completed his 50th mission and would soon be home. He was given a R&R (Rest and Recreation) and flew to Rome before coming home. For some unknown cause I never received his letter.

Eventually we would spend 22 years in the Air Force and would travel all over the World. In the early years we were transferred about every six months. Later our assignments were longer and included tours in Germany, where Chuck flew the Berlin Airlift, Japan and Tripoli, Libya, North Africa.

During this time we had four sons, the last were twins. I especially enjoyed our tours overseas because then I had maids to help with the boys. I was the typical Mother, taking my sons to School and various activities such as Boy Scouts and Little League games. I sometimes even had time for myself. I was active in the Officer's Wives Club, played bridge and bowled. I also accumulated many Red Cross volunteer hours as a Nurse Aide and Gray Lady working at the Base Hospitals. One of our sons followed in his Father's footsteps and is now a Major in the Army as a Chaplain.